Lord Of The Flies - Recovery
by Jokerhound
Summary: Even though all the boys have been rescued and the horrors of the island lay behind them, a certain pair still remain stricken with nature's teachings. Roger and Jack struggle to adjust to midday society, even after 10 years..
1. Chapter 1

"Roger."

The sound of Jack's British voice was sharp against the silence of their apartment room. The two both retired in the same room yet occupied separate beds. The black-haired man Jack was trying to summon was of course not asleep. Sleep rarely came to him, after all. Nightmares plagued his mind.. Urges. Temptations.

"Go to bed, Jack."  
"Did you take your pills?"

It had been a good decade since the incident. But, not even 10 years was enough to heal them all.. To heal the ones who were still alive. Shit, even if they were living... They felt dead inside. This of course, wasn't true for every boy. Ralph had recovered quite well from the island. Therapy and counseling worked wonders for the blonde. The little'uns couldn't have remembered much, after all most of them were in their late teens now and had better things to worry themselves with besides blurry, past memories. Samneric had some trouble. From then on they were attached at the hip, even moreso than they were on the island. Everywhere they went, they went together. Dates. Doctor's appointments. They even lived together. Jack Merridew even found some recovery. He was still an ugly brute with the personality of a raging bull, but that was just him. He'd learned to fit mostly back into society. However, that only left one more..

Roger.

Roger never found his place. The world seemed empty. Cold.. Unaccepting. It all felt too vast. The island was small. Manageable.. A place where he felt on top. In charge. Even though, he wasn't. He'd been under Jack's rule. He'd been the red-head's executioner. And that is what chnaged him - the , still, he had been Jack's right-hand man. They were almost like partners. If one compared it to a monarchy, Roger would've been second in control.

The thing was, Roger had loved his job. Stoning the little'uns, smashing Piggy with the boulder after "accidentally" leaning on the lever propped beneath it. Before Roger had even been trapped on the island with the others, he held savage thoughts. Savage dreams. Morals kept him bound. Society kept him sane. But all that was taken from him with the plan crash that stranded them there.. And it was never returned.

Sure, they'd been rescued. Sure they're parents had them enrolled in counseling, numerous therapists, home schooling.. Etc.  
It may have helped the others.. but not the quiet, black-haired youth, Roger.

Since all that, Roger didn't seem quite fit to live by himself. So, many years later he insisted upon boarding with his former leader, Jack. He hadn't completely released all feelings of loyalty to the other. Even before the island, Jack had taken a leader role over Roger when they were choir boys.

It helped, but only little. Roger could still be found occasionally with a small rodent or cat in the bathroom, skinning the poor creature alive with a knife or equally sharp object. It only angered Jack when he made a mess of it all over the floor. As long as it helped to suppress whatever macabre thoughts that plagued the boy's mind.. The red-head was alright with it.

Roger spared a glance to Jack from his bed, the covers pulled up over his slender frame, but not covering his face. He brought pale fingers up to swipe some black hair from his eyes, gazing at the red-head sitting up in the other bed across from him.

"...No."  
"You fuckin' idiot." They both spoke with posh British accents. One thing that hadn't changed. They'd been proper, once.

"Get up and take them before I force them down your bloody throat again, Roger." Jack threatened, his voice tainted with a chilling seriousness. As he'd said, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to force-feed the bloke pills.

Without a word, the man rose from his bed to stalk into the kitchen, shaky fingers fumbling with pill bottles.. Soon enough, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 different pills were spread out before him. Each prescribed. Ones for depression, insomnia, the thoughts.. Quiet, little killers.

They're evil. Roger insisted mentally. He didn't trust them. Not at all.

In fact, he was about to swipe the small tablets into the garbage and feign taking them when he heard Jack creeping up behind him.  
"You even think of slidin' them into the bin, I'll cram the whole bin down your throat."

A quiet panic rose within him, the thinner male shakily taking the pills into his mouth and downing them with a quick swig of water.. To him, it felt like swallowing poison.

"Now get your arse to bed. It's 4 in the fuckin' mornin', Roger."  
"I'm goin'.. I'm goin'.." he mumbled, seeming to almost flinch as he swept by the taller of the two to head back to their room. He should've been used to the other's harsh way of speaking by now. After all, his mind accepted them as orders. And orders were to be followed. The more human part of him though always wanted to challenge them, though. Although, he simply couldn't. Jack was bigger. Stronger.. More powerful.

So, following the orders he'd been given, the sadist crawled his way back into his bed, quivering under the covers as Jack walked back in. Roger's eyes flickered to the doorway for a moment to catch Jack's silhouette standing there for a few solid seconds. He shivered as he could feel the brute's eyes on him.. Watching. Evaluating. That 10 seconds felt like t was going to drive him deeper into madness.

Thankfully, the shadow dwindled as Jack let the door shut, submerging the bedroom in total darkness.

"Good." Roger heard him mumble, a warm feeling sweeping through him at the received praise. Even if it was only one word, and a mere grunt.

"Goodnight, Roger."

"...Goodnight, Jack."


	2. Chapter 2

The rush was amazing.

Roger's hands were slick and warm, his mind submerged in lazy glee. A sic satisfaction came with this chore; Drawn from every aspect of it.

He'd recently discovered a medium sized rat in one of the traps located in the depths of their cupboard. Still alive. Still squealing. It had been one of those sticky traps, labeled cruel and unusual by many. But to the sadist.. What did it matter? It was just a rat. It was lower than him. It was less than him. So, with quick snips of the legs he could not tear away from the trap, Roger had the animal at his mercy.

The creature's corpse lying in a pool of scarlet in the sink gave faint twitches of life here and there. But it's desperate cries had left with it's skin, peeled off by shaking, pale hands. He'd plugged the sink to let it fill, the rats blood lapping at the once white walls of it's tomb. The pool of still warm blood trembled under Roger's fingertips as he stroked them lovingly against the surface. The young man shivered in pure delight. It painted his flesh, beginning with the pads of his fingers. But with each passing second, more of his fingers were plunged into the small pool. Past the fingernails.. past the knuckle.. He wouldn't stop until he had his hand down flat inside with his palm pressed against the bottom of the sink.

His dull, brown eyes lit up with a certain excitement A grin twisted onto his features as he allowed himself the pleasure of brushing the fingertips of his free hand over the rat's blood-matted fur. The entire pelt lay seperate from the body in the opposite end of the sink, soaking.

The corpse was pink and bright, eyes open but seeing nothing, ears practically missing. It floated in it's own juices, a glazed look over it's beady eyes. The throat had been punctured, as was the stomach. Both had aided in draining the creature of it's blood. A few intestines dangled from the wound to it's abdomen. They'd been torn from within when Roger removed his tool. In memory of the island, he'd used an old... "favorite." A stick sharpened at both ends.. Oh the memories. The very recollection widened his smile. The sweet feeling of nostalgia swam through his brain..

The small twig he'd sharpened lie on the sink's edge. Bits of flesh and organ alike still clung to the wood with help from the blood that once fueled them. It was a gruesome sight, but one most relieving to Roger. Such an act would hopefully keep his urges sedated for a week or so. With his medication, of course. His smile dwindled a tad, a look of worry flashing over his features as his hand began it's familiar, nervous quiver. The boy released a small whimper.. He hated his medication. And especially hated when Jack got on him for taking it.

Speaking of, Jack would be home soon. The red-head would return from shopping and call for him from the living room, just like every week. Roger exhaled a sigh, knowing his pleasure would have to come to an end.. The hand already pressed to the bottom of the sink quickly worked for the plug, other hand coming up to turn the cool water on. It was best to rinse it out before Jack got home. Lest he'd throw a right tantrum over the mess. His harsh words echoed lightly in the back of Roger's mind. His jaw grew a bit tense.

With sad eyes, Roger watched the deep red of the blood slowly fade to a light pink as water was added. It was being swept down the drain at an alarming rate, leaving him with an almost sad look. He rinsed his hands next, careful not to get any blood on the soap pump as he did so.. Again, that was to avoid Jack's sharp tongue.

Once he'd got most of the blood rinsed down and the white walls of the sink scrub, the rat's corpse lie motionless in the bottom, a few suds from the soap lining it's body. Roger gave a chilling smile, as if the sight were heart-warming..

His eyes flickered to the small twig again, still stained with drying blood and lying on the sink.. With index finger and thumb, Roger plucked it from it's perch and slid it into his jean pocket.. Perhaps it might come in handy, even if to just serve as a reminder of this recent... pleasure? Release? Necessity? What could one even call it?

"Roger! Where are you?"

The call practically made him jump a foot, his entire frame freezing. His gaze whipped towards the door, as he knew Jack had returned home.. Quick as he could, he swept the last drops of blood from the sink with some toilet paper, and was about to shuffle out the door to greet him. When the rat's body caught his eye. Shit. One last thing. He knew from experience it would stink up the garbage (and the house), so there really was only one solution - The window.

One fluid movement had the rat by the tail and out the open window. The pelt would follow after it, flopping down to the ground with sickening "Plop!"s. And then of course, he'd have to watch his hands again. For Jack. For his leader. His... His friend.

"Bloody hell, you in the bathroom, again?" Jack's voice sounded again, right outside the door.

"Yes." Was all he could say. His tremulous hand went out too grasp the doorknob and swiftly pull the door open, his gaze meeting Jack's.


	3. Chapter 3

Roger would quietly stand in the bathroom doorway, fixing Jack with a look of guilt. It was child-like. Absolutely stricken with caution as he kept a nervous gaze on his (what he perceived to be) superior. Their eyes locked. The young man stood beneath the other's persecuting gaze. Silent, and dreadfully still. He waited for Jack to make a move or give an "order". Both would come almost immediately.

"Get out of the way."

Jack merely grumbled. Though to Roger, the statement alone came in a dangerous, deep, timbre that made his very being quiver with fright. With the man's remark came a sudden grab at Roger's shirt-collar. His own clothing used against him by Jack's own hand.

The "leader" swiftly yanked him away from the door to the right, allowing him to jut his head into the bathroom and inspect for any visible mess. It was then that the shaken from of Roger realized that Jack knew exactly what he'd been up to. Yet the apartment was void of spoken words. Only the sound of the red-head stepping his way into the bathroom door with the slow step of a man on a mission.

Once off the island, each lad had grown their own quirks and hobbies. Each had something special to keep them human; To keep them relatively sane. Some had adopted objects. Others had gotten hobbies. Roger was a prime example. He had his own special habit to curb his urges; And of course, it was effective. Usually. Jack on the other hand had neatness. There was a certain quality about Mr. Merridew. He required cleanliness. For his own sake; And Roger's. While it was true he'd never been a slob even as a little boy, he'd taken it to a whole new level. Every object in their home had a place. And everything was to properly remain in that place unless Jack stated otherwise. Everything had to be clean and spotless or it simply would not do. Roger knew this well after several times of breaking this rule. Any time he'd dared to shift something to another spot or perhaps make a small mess, it would cost him a night of screaming and rabid lecture from his counterpart. He'd learned his lesson quick. One or two nights with a positively furious Jack Merridew was nothing short of terrifying. And it most definitely got the message through every time. Roger supposed it gave the other a feeling of control, and power. Something he'd always required and longed for even as a child when he was lead of the choir boys and when they'd crashed on the island. He was a control freak. Plain and simple.

Roger was left outside the bathroom, casually peeking in while adjusting his shirt. His heart pounded in his chest. The entire moment was quite tense, as he was absolutely dreading the moment that may come if even a mere drop of blood was found on the tile. The young man gnawed at his bottom lip with little mercy as he tremulously tucked his white shirt back into the waist of his jeans. Each second that ticked by felt like hours. He couldn't bear to look any more and then simply peeled himself back from the doorway. That wasn't much relief, though. He could still hear the other shuffling about for some evidence of a mess.

An easy 3 minutes had gone by. Roger had just begun to relax. It'd been a while. Maybe Jack didn't find anything. Maybe he'd actually done a good thing and would receive praise. Oh, how he valued what Jack had to say. Moreso if it was something positive rather than a shouting fest. The smallest of smiles had begun to crawl back onto his pale features. It only lasted seconds.

Suddenly, Jack burst furiously from the room, slamming the door with the energy of a rampaging bull. The sudden noise caused Roger quite a fright, sending him back on instinct as he assumed a tense position of defense with his arms up near his face and chest if the red-head decided to swat at him. Instead, he was met only with words of fury.

"WHAT'VE I TOLD YOU, ROGER?" Jack bellowed.  
"You can off whatever the fuck ya' want.. BUT DON'T MESS UP THE APARTMENT, D'YO HEAR ME?"

THEN came the swat. One of Jack's strong hands came forward to shove the shorter of the two back with anger. Roger only took the hit with the utmost obedience, nodding vigorously.

"Yes, yes.. Ok.." he stammered, madly beginning to back up. That only triggered the eldest to stalk slowly towards him, driving him back even further towards the wall. Jack held up his right hand, a streak of red strewn across the flesh of the very pad of his index finger, daring to try and trickle down between the cracks of his skin. Roger felt the familiar feel of Jack's hand wrapped around his arm as he shoved his only defense downwards. The opposite hand was thrust into Roger's face to display Jack's findings from the bathroom.

"And what IS this, Roger?"

The red-head's voice had grown dangerously calm out of nowhere. Roger groaned inwardly. Why couldn't have he remembered to check the floor? Why? His heart-rate skyrocketed as his chest began to tense up, his mouth fighting to answer his leader's question.

"B-blood."  
"Blood." Jack repeated, finally using the arm holding Roger's to push him back against the wall.  
"BLOOD. Y'KNOW WHAT BLOOD DOES, DONT'CHA?"  
"I-it m-"  
"It. Stains. Things." His voice had dropped to a quiet growl, the evidence-bearing hand lowered so Jack could slowly move his face just an inch or two away from Roger's. The next words he spoke were a whisper. And he was close enough that the smell of his rank breath spilled out into Roger's nose.

"Do not. Let this on the floor, again. Alright?"

Silence.

"ALRIGHT?" It really was amazing how Jack could go from deadly calm to madly furious in a matter of mere seconds. It was so quick. A sudden change from chilling to horrifying. His face was beet red with anger, the vein in his temple jutting out in a pulsating throb. Though, Roger was only focused on one particular feature. And that was Jack's eyes.

They were striking. Like that of a predator. And they were positively soul-wrenching in the sense that they were laced with contained insanity. Controlled chaos. They were chilling. And every time their faces came so close together, Roger found himself staring into those pits of madness with his own brown eyes.

"A-alright.."  
"Louder."  
"Alright." Roger spoke, his throat tight and dry as he could feel the other's strength keeping him flat against the wall. It was agonizing. Not quite painful but a reminder that he was beneath Jack. And at his mercy.

It was quick to end, however. Thankfully. A sweet relief washed over him as the pressure suddenly vanished and the intense eye contact broke. It was as if the largest of weights had been lifted from Roger's chest and shoulders. He could breathe again. Sweet, heavy breaths into his lungs to try and stop the coming anxiety attack. He went slack against the wall, his arms shaking as his gaze swept to the floor..

"Good." Was the last word spoken. A verbal signal of Jack that this was over for now. His victim watched him run the palm of his hand over his Brylcreem slicked red hair to make sure it was in place after that.. fiasco. He slowly lost the loo of fury on his face; Replaced suddenly with a serene peaceful look. With that simple move, Jack would turn away and stalk like a large cat into the dinette connected to their "living room" of sorts. Roger dare not look away from him until he was safely parked at the table with a newspaper. Only then would he make the descent to the nearby couch in the center of the small room.. To try and.. relax..

"Oh. Roger."

Jack suddenly spoke again. Of course, he looked over immediately.

"Yes?"

"Did you take your pills?"


End file.
